Soldiers' prayer

I am the figurehead of an army I know nothing about.  I wear their armour, I sing their songs; I am not one of them.  I ride into battle at the front of the troops.  Five men then take me away, to a hill, so I can watch them slaughter in my name.  I march in the middle of a sea of men.  For miles around me, all I can see is their lives ticking over, as they slowly tread their way to death.  And no one knows for sure, if we march towards our own death, or our enemy’s.  I doubt they even know which they’d prefer; it doesn’t matter, because both are in the same direction and that is the direction in which we march.1

My generals, for that is what they call themselves, meet every night in my tent.  I sit at the back and wonder, why they must argue so long about where death truly lies, for no matter where we march, we will find it there.2

I am confused when they talk of men, for they are not lives they talk about, but weapons.  And I am lost, not in a sea of humanity, but in an armoury instead.3

I ask them why we fight; they reply that we fight for freedom, and justice, for what’s right and the people.  I ask who the people are; they reply that they are your people, our people, those that fight for you, those that die for you.  I ask if they’re free, they reply; free my lord? Who my lord?  I nod and smile- I told you, I know nothing of this army, of these people.  It would seem that neither do they.4

It were a family I left behind, when I was called to do me duty.  But it’s right to fight to protect a life like l had.5

I ‘ad a wife and kids it’s right that I should fight for ‘em.  Though I’m not sure how they’ll cope, wi’out me to do heavy work.  Sure enough, they can do sowing, ‘n’ the weeding, the spinning, and the cleaning.  But who’ll be around to plough our bit o’ land, and who can weave what they have spun wi’ me out fightin’ to protect that way of life?6

And I had a mam an’ dad.  They’re gone now.  But I should fight, ‘cause they would’ve done.7

I had a life, right enough.  And I threw it away, when I left to do me duty.  It wasn’t taken, that I can be proud of.  No one took my life.  I gave it freely.8

And sacrificed the lives of those I fight for.9

I am the figurehead of an army they know nothing about.  I wear their armour, I sing their songs; I am not allowed to be one of them.  I am amongst them; I ride into battle with them.  I am apart from them, I am on that hill, I am in clean armour, I am in gold trimmed armour, they sing their songs for me.10

The field below is awash with blood.  Their blood, my blood, the enemy’s blood.  It’s all one and the same, spilled or not; it’s blood, it’s death, and Death walks proud today.  Does it matter that I am not on that field, that no man will ever meet me in battle?  My generals say it does not.  My might is known, they say, and does not need to be proven.  My strength is on show to the world they say, through the size of my army, and through the dead that we leave behind.  I fight through the army, they say; the army is my body, my sword, my shield.  And my body is an unbeatable fighter, they say; I replied that I should, then, feel pain when a man dies for me on the field.  They laughed and slapped me on the back.  I’m afraid they find me funny.11

Ten men guard me on the hill.  They stand in plain armour, they watch as I watch.  All are willing to die for me, to lose their lives to save mine- even though they know that I would not, could not do the same for them.  I would ask them why, only I do not think that I would understand the answer.12

I itch wi’ the dirt.  We sweat, under the weight of our gear and the heat of all  practical clothing we ever owned.  And there’s no time to stop n wash, there’d be nowhere to do it anyway- all t’ water is muddied, dirtied, fouled by our passin’.13

All these men - someone’s bound to ‘ave lice, which means we all have lice.  We all get the same rashes, spread touch to touch, cough to cough.  Any food poisonin’ or illness of any kind is shared out among us.14

I’m tired to the very marrow in me bones.  There’s nowhere ter sleep but the muddy path hundreds o feet have churned over.  No heat, but from what fire we can build from the few, wet sticks found along the way.  They always go out by mornin’.15

So we are left to the dark- our on’y comfort.16

Safe in the knowledge that though we fight for our way of life, we are only bodies to the cause- not thought to blame for any damage we do.  Innocent in the eyes o’ God.17

They are brave these men, this I understand from their songs.  To die for a leader is brave.  To die for an idea is noble.  To die for freedom and justice is good and right.  This is why they march with me.  Because they think that I can lead, because they think I have an idea, because they think I offer them freedom and justice.  And they know that they all must die anyway.18

I am not sure, but I think it is worse that they also think that I’m brave, and noble, and good and right.  My generals say it is good.  The men who say it, the men who write it into their songs, they say it is good.  They are happy to see me so.  They are comforted to see me so.19

I do not fight.  I am not brave.  I am not noble.  I am not good and I am not right.  Only through the people am I so, only through my people, our people, those that fight for me and die for me am I so.20

I do not want to be brave or noble.  I do not want to be good and right.  If I were none of these, I would not be the figurehead they have made of me, I would not be on a hill, I would not be watching them fight, this would not be for me.21

The songs ebb over my blisterin’ feet.  I know that there is pain beyond those melodies and rhymes; I know that there is fear.  But with the songs, all pain and all fear, all memory o’ past life, all concern is wiped away.  And you are lost to the endless rhythm that your feet instinctively match.22

There’s the drums you see, the ceaseless rollin’ drums.  And they pound out over you, like the beat of metal on bone that we head towards, and wash out all thought and all care.  We’re too tired to resist their forever beat.  We’re too tired not to join in the rousing song that robs us of ourselves and screams at the irrevocable crimes of those towards whom our march is directed, those that we must fight.23

I feel like Death on this hill.  Looking down on the suffering, looking down on the pain, knowing that only I will win in this, knowing that only I cannot be harmed by this.  I feel like Death.  A hollow comfort that is never what you want it to be.  A part of life and apart from life.  I am in these men; in their hearts and minds, and these men are who I am and all I can ever claim to be.24

I look out, beyond the battle, for a hill like mine.  There should, I reason, be another, with someone else, watching them slaughter in his name.  Perhaps he is just like me.  Lost, alone, and separated.  Why else would he fight, if not for freedom, and justice, for what’s right and the people?  I wonder what will happen to him and his justice, when we beat him.  Would the ideas given to him by his people, simply fade in his memory?  It would not matter how good and just those ideas were, if he could not beat my body.  Nor would it matter how reluctant he may have been to lead, for he would cease to be a man, when he came up against this army.  My generals have already turned him into an idea.  My men have turned him into a beast.  And he has become my equal.25

Blood; more blood than I ever thought could come from a man.  Much more’n I ever saw from a beast.26

The grass was green when we come t’ the field; it were the first grass I’d seen in a long time, because by the time I ‘ad got to any ground it’d been churned to mud.  Now it’s red with blood, brown with guts and slick with the vomit and bile of half dead men.27

I had thought that the smell of so many unwashed men marching for days on end, leaving their rubbish carelessly in their path had been bad enough.  It was nothin’ compared to the stench o’ the battlefield.28

Charred meat burned.  The smells of shit, blood, bile, sweat, meat, and rusted iron mingled and stung yer nose.  Everywhere you looked there were men, swords drawn, not knowing who was foe, and who was friend and killin’ all wi’out check to save their own skins.29

But all yer can think is your own death, and the tormented thought of a sword in yer guts.  Of lying, trampled in the field, losing control of yer bowels, like so many before you, retching in a vain attempt to rid yerself of the bleedin’ inside.30

He is not there; the enemy remains faceless, formless.  The enemy remains one sea of men, indistinguishable from mine.31

Like two lovers, of an indeterminate race.  Indistinguishable from one another; bodies locked together so.  Is love not this violent?32

Or perhaps it is one beast, one whole.  For one side could not truly exist without the other.  What is one army after all without an enemy to fight?33

And what is one lover without someone to love?34

I lock eyes with a man; we approach one another warily.  Both of us know that someone will not survive this meeting.35

Ee is just like me.  I see it in ‘is eyes, ‘is expression.  It’s not that ee’s on my side, its not that ee marched with me for days on end.  I know that he approached this field from the opposite direction, but we are the same.  Ee fights for a way o’ life.   Ee fights for his family, for his wife and his children, for his mam and his dad.36

He gave up his life when he went to do ‘is duty.37

And I must kill ‘im.38

Oh God, I don’t want this! When did I say I wanted this? What did I do to deserve this?39

What is a way of life now?40

What’s a wife an’ kids?41

Why did I let myself be led into this?42

Why didn’ I stay home?43

Oh, God, how long must this last?  To be walking again, what would I not give for that?  T’ be walking again, t’ be complainin’ o lice!44

Oh God! Help me!45